


somewhere in the middle

by silklace



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Keeping It 1600 era, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silklace/pseuds/silklace
Summary: “Tommy’s mad at me,” Lovett announces, halfway through the drive back to Jon’s house.





	somewhere in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, got a lotta notes coming at you:
> 
> First, title is from [this](https://throuples.tumblr.com/post/166829495056/podsa-102617-my-two-founders) gem of an ad in which Jon refers to Lovett and Tommy with crushing fondness as "my two founders" and then also goes on to assert that he's "somewhere in the middle."
> 
> Second, this story was inspired by [this](http://everyonewillsee.tumblr.com/post/173653456570/boatshoefucker-im-sorry-but-what-the-hell-is) post specifically as well as Lovett's comment that he likes to take "risks that he can control" from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpthyTICiXA) interview. 
> 
> Takes place during KI 1600 days. 
> 
> Finally, PLEASE, for the love of our collective sanity, keep it secret, keep it safe: do not show to anyone directly or indirectly involved.

“Tommy’s mad at me,” Lovett announces, halfway through the drive back to Jon’s house. 

Jon sighs, internally. The tense silence for the last twenty minutes had been so nice. 

“I’m not mad,” Tommy says, moodily. He sighs, externally.

“Nailed it,” Jon says mildly. 

“Oh, don’t you start,” Tommy shoots back. “You heard him back there.”

“Hello,” Lovett says, “Still here. You’re talking about me like I’m not here, because I am being quiet and good back here, but I am still here. I am extremely present for this conversation.”

“Impossible to forget,” Tommy says, shifting grumpily in his seat. His back is ramrod straight, knees wide. Jon looks away.

He pulls into his driveway, carefully putting the car into park. 

“Do you always use your blinker in your own driveway, Jon?” Lovett sounds genuinely curious, but also like he’s trying to lighten the mood a little. Jon appreciates that. 

Tommy chirps in. “It’s polite, Lovett.”

“There was no one behind us,” Lovett snips back, gesturing vaguely at the empty street. 

“Just saying,” Tommy says, unbuckling his seatbelt with perhaps more force than necessary. “Giving people a heads up about things, is like. A nice thing to do.” 

“Sure. Cool. Great.” Lovett’s nodding, unbuckling his seat belt, too. “Well, here’s your heads up, then. I’m going to get Pundit. And then I’m going to bring her back, here. And I’ll probably grab a diet Coke on my way back.” He slides out of the car. “Feeling fully briefed on the situation, Tommy? Jon, do you want a diet Coke?” 

“Su –”

“Great, and heads up Tommy: I won’t be bringing you a diet Coke, okay, sound good?”

Then he leaves. Tommy follows, getting out of the car. He doesn’t slam the door, which somehow makes it worse. 

Jon watches Tommy stomp up his front porch. “Start a podcast with your best friends,” he mutters. “It’ll be totally cool and easy.” He unclicks his seat belt and shuts the car off. “Even better, start hooking up with said best friends, because mixing work and relationships is never, ever a bad idea. Nothing could go wrong there.” 

Tommy lets him get the front door unlocked and pushed open before he’s rounding on Jon. “The fuck, Favs?” He spreads his arms wide. Leo’s already dancing around their feet, whining a little. 

Jon drops his keys in the bowl on the side table, then kneels to greet Leo. “It’s okay,” he says soothingly, rubbing behind his ears.

“I just,” Tommy continues, starting to pace. “I dunno how. And then it’s like! What. He can just. Like, casually? You know?”

“Totally,” Jon says, making his way towards the kitchen. Tommy stalks behind him, and Leo skirts behind both of them. He grabs two beers out of the fridge, cracking them both and passing one to Tommy. 

“Thanks,” Tommy says, a little aggressively. Jon leans back against the counter, watching. Tommy’s red down to his throat. 

“I mean,” he’s saying, gripping his beer with probably more hostility than is warranted. “Totally – like ridiculous. Jesus.”

Jon takes a swig from his bottle. “Your reaction is making me think you’re, like,” he says, looking down at his shoes, “maybe a little bit into it.”

Tommy splutters. “What? No, that’s like. Not even at all. At all even close.” He takes a long, deep drink from his beer, probably because he is very thirsty. 

Jon hears the front door swing open, then the sound of Pundit’s nails clicking on the wooden floor. “Heads up,” Lovett hollers from the hallway. “Heads up, Tommy. Pundit and I are here. I just set her down on the floor. She’s making her way to you guys, now. Probably she will beat me there, but I can’t be sure. I’ll keep you updated as the situation unfolds, okay?”

Lovett rounds the corner. There are two bright spots on his cheeks, and his t-shirt’s too big, so that Jon can see the delicate arches of his collar bone on one side. 

“Hey, Lovett,” Jon says. Pundit barks. The blush on Lovett’s face darkens. 

“Oh, good. You started without me,” he says, eyeing their beers. 

Tommy’s scraping at the label on his bottle with his thumb very intently. 

“So,” Jon says, a little loudly, reaching into the fridge for a third beer. “Plan was to draft next week’s pod while Tommy’s still in town.” He uncaps it and passes it to Lovett, letting their fingers brush. Lovett swallows, looks away. “That still the plan?”

“No reason why not,” Lovett says, squaring his shoulders. 

Tommy sniffs. “Yep. Like Lovett said.”

“Great!” Jon pushes past them and moves into the dining room, stopping to grab his bag from the front hallway as he goes. After a moment of silence, he hears them following, chairs scraping back as they situate themselves. He looks down at Pundit, who’s wandered after him to the front of the house. “I know, girl,” he says quietly. 

She barks at him. 

They work in relative quiet for about thirty minutes before Jon gets up for a second round of beers. Lovett looks up. “Tommy. Heads up, Tommy, Jon’s getting up. I think he’s going to –”

“Oh, good,” Jon says. He sits back down.

“– get us more beers –”

Tommy puts his hands on his knees. “What is your problem?” 

“My problem? My problem?” Lovett says, voice rising. “Somehow, I’m the one with the problem, when you’re acting like. I’m some. Sad slut who lets strangers. Whatever.” He looks back at his laptop, flicking his fingers against the trackpad as if he’s going to start working again. “You’re being a total fucking WASPy asshole bro –”

Shit. Jon winces. 

Tommy physically rears back. “I _never_ said that, not even once. You are like, flipping out at me here –”

“Okay,” Jon says, and stands up again. “Lovett, neither of us think you are a slut.” He levels a look at Tommy, who’s frowning down at his fingers clasped between his knees. “Tommy, figure the hell out what’s going on. I’m pretty sure this is because you wanna tie Lo up and spank him, for good fucking reason,” he says, glaring back at Lovett, “but whatever it is, stop acting like you’re three seconds from pulling his metaphorical pigtails.”

It’s not until he’s in the kitchen, sucking the foam off a second beer, that he realizes his heart’s rabbiting in his chest. There’s silence from the dining room, and even Leo and Pundit are quiet, napping in the swathe of late evening sunlight coming through the hallway windows. 

He touches the beer bottle to his throat. Today had started off so promising – they’d picked up Tommy at the airport, made out in Jon’s car surreptitiously for a hot ten minutes (something they were still figuring out how to do with three people, and which often consisted of two of them kissing until the third got too impatient watching and jumped back in), and spent the day in The Ringer studio being generally hilarious and charming. 

Then Lovett had made an off-hand comment about putting ties to a better use back when they’d worked at the White House, and Jon had watched Tommy’s sexual barometer reconfigure itself without his permission. 

Christ. After another few minutes, he hears Tommy call his name. 

He forces himself to walk back out there, because he’s not hiding in his kitchen. He’s a thirty-five-year-old man with a resume that includes the White House and his own consulting firm. He’s not hiding from his friends. Boyfriends. Whatever. 

In the dining room, Lovett is sitting in Tommy’s lap. One of his hands is fisted in Tommy’s hair, tugging gently. Tommy’s not looking away from Lovett, and his mouth is a little open, so that Jon can see the way he’s touching his tongue to the inside of the bottom of his lip.

“Hi, Jon.” Lovett doesn’t look away from Tommy, either. “You were close. So close. Turns out Tommy’s less interested in practicing sailor’s knots around my wrists.” He pulls a little on Tommy’s hair, enough that Jon can see the way Tommy leans into it, thumb rubbing against Lovett’s hip, like Lovett’s the one who needs soothing.

“Turns out,” Lovett says, voice going a little tight, “he’d rather uh.” He laughs a little breathlessly and finally turns to look at Jon. “He’d rather we tie him to your bed and take turns sitting on his cock.”

Oh, Jon thinks. He doesn’t get much further than that. 

Tommy breathes out hard through his nose. “That’s not. Exactly what I said.”

“True,” Lovett says, with a generous shake of his head. “This is true, Jon. It was more like,” he deepens his voice, “’uh, maybe, uh, you could do that, like to me, instead, if you wanted, and I could still like uh, I could still take care of you –”

“Shut up,” Tommy says, cheeks pink. “Just – shut up.” It’s a little muffled, because he rears up and kisses Lovett, somewhat frantically, like he’s annoyed by how much he’s into Lovett at his brattiest. 

Jon can, unfortunately, relate. His dick’s been hard in his pants since he walked in and heard that particular tone in Lovett’s voice that said, _I’m going to make fun of you until you come and you’re going to fucking enjoy it._

They kiss impatiently, Tommy arching up towards Lovett, his chin tipped back, t-shirt bunching across his biceps, until Lovett sets his palm against Tommy’s jaw, gentles the kiss into something softer and slower, as if to say, _I know, I get it, you need me to tell you it’s okay to do less right now._

Lovett spends so much of his time demanding more of people, that in a weird way, he’s the only one Tommy believes when he tells him to shut up and stop trying so hard. 

It’s suddenly imperative that Jon be touching both of them right now. He crosses the dining room, and Tommy must hear him, because he’s reaching out blindly for Jon, one of his hands settling on the back of Jon’s thigh, pulling him in sweet and close, even as he keeps his other palm on Lovett’s hip, opening his mouth for Lovett’s tongue. 

Jon’s not sure who he wants to touch first, so he compromises by putting one hand on Lovett’s ass while he leans in and kisses the tense, quivering tendon in Tommy’s throat. Lovett makes a noise, pushing into it, and Tommy smells so fucking nice and is tilting his head a little, fingers clenching on Jon’s thigh and – fuck Jon’s totally, completely head over heels for them. 

“Honey,” he mumbles, meaning both of them. “Honey.” 

Lovett makes a noise at that, a wrenched kind of sound, and then he’s pushing Tommy’s face towards Jon’s. “Now, you two,” he says. There are matching dusky pink spots on his cheeks. He swallows, and his voice sounds a little less shaky when he says, “Make out for me.”

“Fuckin’ pushy,” Jon mutters, but it comes out more like a fond observation than anything else. 

Tommy’s lips are soft and a little wet from kissing Lovett, and that makes Jon feel crazy, totally out of his mind, like he could fall apart. 

But he kisses Tommy softly, abbreviated brushes of his lips, kinda teasing, because he wants to make it good for him, make him feel like this is his time to be coddled and petted and made to come undone and it might be working, because Tommy’s making these dazed sounds of frustration and want, straining up for more – until finally Jon gives it to him, this dirty, open-mouthed kiss that has Tommy’s hands fisting in the front of Jon’s shirt. 

“My boys,” Lovett says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Jon hears him slide off of Tommy’s lap, the sound of clothing rustling, but it’s all happening in his periphery, because Tommy’s got one big hand around his jaw and is opening his mouth like he wants to crawl inside of Jon. 

“God, Tommy,” he mutters, kissing the corner of his mouth, stroking from his cheeks to the back of his head, threading his fingers through Tommy’s soft hair, feeling crazy, like he can’t decide if he wants to cuddle him or make him come until he cries, so he just keeps touching him, running his long fingers around his head and neck while Tommy arches up into it. 

He makes a sudden, strained noise and Jon looks down to see Lovett on his knees, pulling Tommy’s dick out of his shorts, wrapping his delicate hand around the base. 

“Keep kissing,” Lovett directs. Jon watches him slide his fist down the length of Tommy’s dick, the fat head gleaming above his grip. He mouths wetly at Tommy’s cock, sloppy and a little performative, and Tommy makes this desperate noise, tugging Jon to kiss him again, urgent and needy. 

“Is that good, Tommy,” Jon mumbles into the kiss, “Lo sucking on you like that? You wanna fuck his mouth, don’t you?” 

“He hates that,” Tommy mutters, looking down at Lovett with blatant affection, touching his thumb to the hinge of Lovett’s jaw. Lovett flashes him a dangerous look, but keeps suckling, moving his mouth in shallow circles. 

“I know,” Jon says mournfully, because he does. Lovett will hold Jon’s hips down while he sucks on the tip of his cock until Jon’s shivering with sensitivity, until he’s out of his mind with it, his cock red and hard and painful looking. 

Tommy reaches up for the back of Jon’s neck. “You like it, though,” he says. It’s not a question. Jon feels his cheeks heating up. 

Lovett pulls off with a sucking sound. “Don’t get shy now, Jon,” he says, sitting back on his heels. 

“Not shy,” Jon says, dropping to his knees and thinking back to the first time he’d let them fuck his mouth, one after the other, head tipped back against the couch cushion. “You can like – just kinda mount my face,” he’d said, trying to explain, feeling marble mouthed with humiliated want. “It’s – I don’t think I have a gag reflex.”

“No, you just want it, don’t you,” Tommy says, voice pitched low. He takes his dick in hand and guides it to Jon’s mouth, and Jon opens up for him and lets him push inside in one long easy glide. 

“Jesus,” Lovett says, behind him, while Tommy fits his big hands around his head and directs his mouth along his dick, slow and deep and easy, long thrusts that are getting his cock coated with saliva and slick. “That is unbelievable. If I hadn’t seen it – Jesus, if I hadn’t done this to you myself, I wouldn’t believe it, I would say, no, impossible, no way, Jon Favreau does not know how to deep throat, Jon Favreau doesn’t even really know what deep throating is except in a kind of abstract, theoretical way, you know? Like, sure, it sounds kinda hot, but I would never want to do that myself, because I respect women and probably it’s not even physically possible to stick your cock all the way down someone’s throat, Jon Favreau says to himself.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, stroking his thumb along Jon’s temple, as if to say, _I’m still here with you even though Lovett’s attempting to suck all the air out of the room while you do all the real work_. Tommy continues, in this infinitely reasonable tone, “Lovett, why don’t you put your mouth to use and get Jon wet for us, hmm?” 

Jon, for a minute, has to stop moving, his lips pressed all the way to the base of Tommy’s cock, breathing through his nose while his brain attempts to make sense of the words. _For us._ Get him wet for _us_. 

“Oh, I think you broke him,” he hears Lovett say distantly. There’s a hand on the base of his spine, soothing and reassuring. 

Tommy moves one of his palms to Jon’s jaw, pets him, says roughly, “Jon, you’re doing so well – so fucking well, but if you don’t stop swallowing around my dick like that, I’m gonna – _fuck,_ I’m gonna come.”

“In other words, ease up, you showboat,” Lovett says, and gently tugs at Jon’s hair, guiding him off of Tommy’s dick, his lips slicking over the head. It’s hard to think – he’s pretty sure he leans in after it, tries to get it back in his mouth, which makes Tommy hiss and Lovett say, “Jesus Christ, your mouth. Your mouth should be illegal,” and lean forward to kiss him, sloppy and slow and hazy.

+++

Upstairs, Lovett pushes Tommy down on the bed with one hand, and with the other palms Jon’s ass and tells him to, “Go get two of your least favorite ties.” 

They’re naked, all three of them. It’d taken them twenty minutes to get from the dining room to the bedroom, but they’d at least managed to accomplish clothing removal in that interval. Also, a lot of kissing. Tommy’s starting to rock some serious beard burn, between the two of them. 

He grabs two ties at random. When he turns back towards the bed, Lovett’s got Tommy spread out on his back and is kissing his chest, murmuring quietly. 

Jon watches them. Lovett’s compact body, his broad shoulders and thick thighs, the round curve of his ass, and Tommy – long legged and muscled and pale everywhere, his dick pink-headed and long and thick. Jon’s so fucking hot for them it’s confusing. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, reaches out to slide his palm along Tommy’s thigh. “Hey,” he says, watching the way Tommy’s dick jumps against his belly as Jon’s hand inches higher. 

“I was just explaining to Tommy,” Lovett says, watching his dick, too, from where he’s kneeling on Tommy’s other side, “that he has to tell us if he doesn’t like something or wants to stop.” 

Jon nods. This is good. Ground rules are good. 

“Safe words,” Tommy says. “We’re using safe words.”

“That’s not –,” Lovett gets out, but Jon says, “Cool,” and leans forward to lick a stripe up Tommy’s dick.

Tommy yelps. 

“See,” Lovett says reasonably, his voice shaky, “does that mean you want Jon to stop or to keep going?”

Tommy’s hips twist violently off the bed as Jon mouths along his balls, sucking one, then the other, into his mouth. “I don’t – what if I don’t know? If I want him to stop. Jon, Jon,” he says, writhing and pushing his fist against the coverlet, “if you _don’t_ stop I’m gonna come all over your face.”

“That’s fine,” Jon says, flicking his tongue along the ridge in Tommy’s dick. “That’s like – really okay -”

“It is not fine,” Lovett interjects, sounding aggrieved, “because then I don’t get to watch Tommy put his dick inside of you.”

Tommy makes a noise and pushes at Jon’s shoulder. “Jon,” he says, panting, “Jon, he’s right, you should, we should listen to him, we wouldn’t want to deprive Lovett of that.” He takes a shaky breath and pulls Jon up to kiss him properly. “You know – you know how he gets,” he says. 

Jon does, but it’s Tommy who’s like a live wire, taut and gasping everywhere he’s touched. Jon kisses his temple. “Are you ready for us to tie you up, now?”

“Yeah,” Tommy rasps out, surging against him, “Fuck, yes, please.”

Lovett does it while Tommy switches between making these panting sounds of pleasure and eyeing Lovett’s knots critically. 

“Do not,” Lovett says, voice rising. “Do not even talk to me about the quality of my knots.”

Jon kisses behind Lovett’s ear. He’s hovering a little, but no one’s asked him to tie any knots, so dropping kisses along Tommy’s wrists or Jon’s shoulders has seemed like a better use of his time. “He doesn’t really take constructive criticism well.”

“At all,” Lovett corrects. “I am not taking constructive criticism at all about my kink.” He inserts an index finger between Tommy’s wrist and the knot. “Is that good? Not too tight?”

Tommy shakes his head. “S’good,” he says. His pupils are blown, his mouth a loose shape of pleasure. He keeps clenching his fingers – what they can reach – around the material of the ties, the muscles in his arms bunching with the movement. 

Lovett’s circling his finger around Tommy’s nipple, watching it get hard and peaked, and then he leans in to set his teeth around it. Which makes Tommy _keen_ and jerk a little spasmodically, as if he can’t decide if he wants to lean into it or pull away. 

“God,” Jon says, hushed. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Yeah.” Lovett’s voice is equally hushed, a little raw-sounding. Like he’s trying to keep it together. 

Tommy, on the other hand, is flushed from forehead to sternum, and is rolling his head against the pillow, face hazy with want. He licks his lips, “I’m – s-sorry, I don’t think I can fuck you both,” he says, sounding deeply apologetic, even through the slur of lust. He pitches forward a little like he wants to touch them, but the ties hold. 

Jon stretches out next to him, kissing his neck, letting Tommy feel the length of his body flush against him. Tommy sighs and runs his nose along Jon’s temple. “I’m not gonna last – for both of you,” he explains. "M'sorry."

“It’s okay,” Lovett says, and he kisses both of them, quick and chaste. “It’s okay, Tommy, ‘cause I know how much Jon here wants to get fucked. And we can help him with that, can’t we?”

Jon presses his face into Tommy’s shoulder, shuddering. “We?” 

His dick jumps against Tommy’s hip, and he must feel it, because he makes a noise – half encouragement, half moan - and says to Jon, “You can take it, I know you can take it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Lovett says, and reaches over to slap Jon’s ass, pulling a groan from him because holy _fuck_ , they’re going to make him take both of their dicks. At the same time. He’s gonna get to feel both of them inside of him, and under him and over him, all at once. 

He’s pretty sure the noises he’s making are embarrassing, and absolutely certain that the way he’s humping Tommy’s hip is absolutely humiliating. 

“God, he wants it so bad, Lo,” Tommy says, and Lovett nods, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked. 

“I know,” he says, “I know he does.” He tugs at Jon’s hips, “Come here, come up for me,” he says, hands guiding Jon to straddle Tommy, which is helpful because Jon’s brain feels like it’s short circuiting. “Here,” he says again, directing Jon to fold his shins up against Tommy’s thighs, so that he’s perched there, so that his ass is _up_ and fucking available. 

“I want Tommy to feel this, too,” Lovett says, softening his hand along Jon’s flank. “I want him to feel you getting eaten out, you know?” He kneels behind Jon. “Up,” he says, grabbing a palmful of Jon’s ass. “Show me.”

Jon’s face is on _fucking_ fire. 

“Good,” Lovett says, once Jon has dropped his head and pushed his hips up, and he leans forward and rewards Jon with his tongue, pressing it flat against Jon’s hole and just fucking leaving it there, like he’s warming him up, getting him ready for it while Jon loses it. 

The worst thing is – it’s Lovett, who never does anything he doesn’t want to do, and he’s using his thumbs to pull Jon’s cheeks wide and he’s groaning like it’s the best thing he’s gotten to do so far today, to kneel there and eat Jon out. 

“So good for it,” Tommy says, watching him with his mouth open. Lovett starts to flick his tongue, delicate lapping motions that work his whole jaw against Jon’s ass. 

“Oh my god, Tommy,” Jon moans, rubbing his slack mouth against Tommy’s chest in something like delirious pleasure. His thighs are trembling already. “I’m – he’s – I can’t,” he tries and then finally just lays there and pants, resolving to not try and talk, not when Lovett’s pointing his tongue and starting to fuck it inside of his hole like that, like he wants inside of Jon’s body now and immediately. 

Jon wants it too, wants them to fill him up. 

He pushes back for it, and Lovett grunts and loops his arm around Jon’s lower back and waist, holding him in place, and after that Jon stops trying to think and just takes it, lets Lovett hold him down and tongue fuck him into quiet, breathy sobs. 

“Lovett,” Tommy’s saying, distantly, “I gotta fuck him, please. He’s squirming and fucking dripping all over me, let me get inside of him.”

Lovett kisses the base of Jon’s spine. “Yeah,” he says, sounding a little out of it himself, voice roughened. “Yeah, god. He wants it so much.”

“I do,” Jon says, feeling it’s important to reiterate that. “I need it,” he says, slurry with desire, and leans up on his elbows to rub his ass along the length of Tommy’s dick. 

“Fuck,” Tommy says, explosive. “ _Fuck_ , now.”

Lovett gets the lube out and fingers Jon open, a little perfunctory but good, still good, his fingers crooking inside of Jon until he sighs and says, “That’s good, you’re ready.”

“Been ready,” Jon says hotly. 

“Okay, killer,” Lovett says, rolling his eyes. “C’mere,” he murmurs, a little softer, and then he’s guiding Tommy’s cock inside of Jon, kissing his neck, telling him how good he is, how good he’s making Tommy feel, and Tommy’s nodding, voice tight, telling him he is, that his ass feels amazing, that’s he’s so fucking _tight_ , and Jon’s not sure how he’s going to handle it, both of them inside of him at once, fucking ruining him like this, making him feel stupid with it all the time, how much he wants them, but Lovett’s there behind him, pressing forward, the blunt head of his dick just pushing in against Jon’s hole, stretching him impossibly wide, his fingers shaky but soothing on the side of Jon’s neck, murmuring nonsense, like how Jon’s going to swallow them up, how greedy his ass is for both of their cocks, how good he looks stuffed full of their dicks. 

“Perfect,” Tommy says, looking up at them with dark eyes, once they’re both seated in him, and Jon’s glad that Tommy’s tied up, thinks he really would fall apart if Tommy was touching him while he said that, while Lovett was holding him with soft, reverent hands. 

They fuck him slowly, after that, for all of the desperation leading up to it – and it’s – somehow worse, the way Lovett’s moving gently against his back, in and out, the slow slide of his dick, catching on Jon’s rim, pushing against Tommy’s dick in a way that has his cockhead rubbing at Jon’s prostate every time he presses forward, slowly, dizzyingly unhurried; the way Tommy’s hitching his hips up in these gentle, shallow thrusts. Like they’ve got all the time in the world, like they could just sit here and fuck Jon into oblivion for the rest of their lives, and – that it’s though, isn’t it? Jon would take it, would happily take it for them. 

Eventually, Lovett says, “Oh, oh,” in this high-pitched way that means he’s close. Jon rocks back for it, grabbing Lovett’s hand and pulling it to his mouth, kissing his palm, sucking on his fingertips, and Lovett inhales, sharply, once, and comes hard, cock jerking and flooding Jon. 

He makes a hazy sound against Jon’s shoulder and pulls out slowly, rubbing his thumb against Jon’s rim as he goes, soothing, as if to gentle the process, as if Jon’s obvious about it, how it feels – shocking and unwanted for Lovett to pull out of him. 

He kneels next to them, wraps his fingers loosely around Jon’s dick. He looks at Tommy. “You wanna make him come?” he says, moving closer until he’s kissing Tommy, mumbling the words so that Jon has to strain to hear him. “You ready to let him come on your dick?”

Tommy moans, nodding tightly. Lovett moves back behind Jon and holds his hips again, and something clicks over in Jon’s brain. Lovett’s keeping him still, holding him there so Tommy can fuck up into him, thighs flexing as he pushes his feet flat for purchase on the bedspread, and Lovett’s sighing and saying, “That’s right,” and oh, _fuck_ , oh, he’s coming, he’s coming against his belly, his orgasm unspooling through him as Tommy’s dick batters at his prostate, and he puts his fist around his cock and pulls himself through it, dropping down to kiss Tommy, soft and sloppy and heated, getting his come all over Tommy’s chest, too, until Tommy’s following him, grunting into the kiss and coming in Jon’s ass. 

“My boys,” Lovett says, and Jon pulls him forward into the kiss, and it’s filthy and sloppy, the three of them, kissing each other all at once, and it’s absolutely fucking perfect. 

Eventually, Tommy makes a sound of frustration and Lovett says, “Duh, duh,” and goes to untie him. “No world in which Tommy wants to be deprived of giving after-care cuddles,” he says, a little under his breath, even as he’s smiling this dopey smile, curls everywhere. 

They do cuddle, even Lovett, who has the same tolerance of and predictability about physical affection as a cat, but it’s Jon who finally pulls away and insists on a shower. 

“I’m literally full of come right now,” he says, and Tommy’s face does something complicated like he’d like to pin Jon down and put a third load in him, and Jon makes a regretful sound and says, “Probably – probably too sore for that, just yet,” and Lovett starts to cackle, head hanging over the end of the bed, “You are literally breaking his brain right now, Jon,” he says, gleeful, while Tommy turns steadily redder, until Lovett rolls on top of him and says, “Look, we both know you are going to be service-topping the shit out of him for the rest of the night, minus the actual topping, so come down stairs with me and help me take care of the dogs and order dinner, and then you can go back to being the – the Protective and Loyal Captain of the Palace Guard Who Has Pledged Undying Fealty to his Golden Prince Forever and Always.”

“Jesus,” Tommy says, looking peevish and a little turned on, again. “You are so annoying, did you know that?” 

Lovett rolls off him, looking extremely satisfied. He reaches for a pair of sweats and throws Tommy’s shorts at him. They hit him in the face. 

Tommy glares, “Right, so, if I’m the fucking Palace Guard and Jon’s the Prettiest Prince, what does that make you?”

Lovett snorts. “The hot, evil step-sister, obviously,” he says, rolling his eyes and groping around for a t-shirt. He pulls his head through it and then steps up to Jon and kisses him, eyes soft and a little indulgent. He touches Jon’s bare hip. “Go get in the shower, babe,” he says. 

“Wow,” Tommy says, “Pot-fucking-kettle.”

Lovett’s cheeks darken. “Shut up,” he says, kissing Jon once more with unending softness. Jon leans into it, helpless, and makes a wounded sound when Lovett pulls away. 

Lovett turns and looks at Tommy. “Say nothing.”

“Evil step-sister, my ass,” Tommy gloats. “More like –” 

“Oh my god -,” Lovett says, walking away. 

Tommy follows after him, but not before stopping to kiss Jon’s temple and stroke a hand along his flank. 

Jon catches his last words as they head down stairs. “More like - Prince’s Most Trusted Council Advisor Whomst He’s Known and Pined for Since They Were Lads in Fencing Class Together, you little shit.”

Jon turns the water on. He can hear, faintly, the sound of their laughter and the dogs barking as they wander into the backyard. 

Not a bad trio, he thinks, twisting the shower knob. Probably the villain in the story has orange hair and calls himself Tronald Blumpf. 

Still, it seems like the kind of story with a hopeful ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can find me screaming on [tumblr.](http://silkcoeur.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments and feedback are welcome and adored! <3


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